Sunday, February 28, 2010

Nabilah with her Tok, Puan Sri Hajjah Halimah, after the engagement ceremony.

Bilah with a nervous-looking Adnan. On the left is Bilah's cousin Kem, my eldest nephew.

The young lady in the pictures above is my niece Nabilah, and cousin to the children. Bilah, whose father Nazri passed away three months ago, got engaged to her beau Adnan yesterday.

Unfortunately for us, Pak Abu and I had to give the ceremony a miss; we had to travel to Bukit Besi, Terengganu to attend my Primary School reunion which was held on the same day [story in next posting].

I was told it was a sedate affair attended by some 100 people. Puan Sri decided to do the cooking herself. As it were, Nawwar was her able assistant, spending two full days helping Tok with the preparations. Hope Awwa has learned some of Tok's secret recipes!

Monday, February 22, 2010

Spent almost three hours yesterday afternoon commiserating with Sha, a dear friend who was in the pits of despair after being conned of RM50,000 in a business deal that proved shadier than the rainforests of Borneo.

To add insult to injury, she got swindled by someone she had known and trusted for years. To be deceived is one thing, but to be duped by someone you called a friend is another. And that was what hurt her the most.

Sha's in her early 50s, resolutely single and very enterprising. She was in the corporate sector for more than two decades, doing marketing communications (marcom) for government-linked companies (GLCs) and multinationals, before deciding to branch out on her own.

Her ad agency, one of those tiny but tight Bumi setups, was doing reasonably well servicing a coterie of clients, contacts she had made from her corporate days.

She came into my public relations sphere four years back when I was looking for an alternative, smallish outfit to complement the one I was already using, on behalf of an NGO client.

Sha proved to be reliable, her creative output commendable and her pricing decent. Most of all, we clicked and that was crucial for any business relationship, the ability to work together especially under pressure.

Sha dropped off my radar for a while after I returned from the Hajj early last year. She was up to her ears with work while I was setting out to service a newly-acquired client. I brought her in midyear for a project; unfortunately it did not come through.

When she called a couple of days ago to relate her sorry state, I suggested lunch. We met yesterday; she turned up with Shikin, her colleague-cum-housemate, and we had a sobering time discussing her company woes.

Sha's now in a fix; she has no money to roll, thus can't accept new jobs. To make matters worse, business has been slow since October last, the staff is leaving (some have left) and the bills are mounting.

She said her lowest ebb was late last year when, in the depths of gloom, she began to question why God had deserted her despite her prayers. Thankfully she snapped out of it fast she said, before her faith collapsed.

I told her that was the Devil's whisper. All he needed was a toehold in your already befuddled state of mind, and your vulnerability was the right setting for him to prod you into blaming God for all your misfortunes.

Every cloud has a silver lining, Sha. Look at this as God's test of your faith. Hold fast to hope as if you life depends on it. When all else fails, hope is all you have to keep you afloat. Don't give up.

You can overcome this. Losing your money isn't half as bad as losing your faith. Change your perception. Maybe the money wasn't meant to be yours. Whatever the case, you will come out of this a stronger, better person, believe me.

I was once where you are today, worrying about where the next meal was coming from. Worse, I had four extra mouths to feed. But we survived, and so will you. He provides, I assure you, but you will have to strengthen your inner resolve to believe in His will absolutely.

Allah swt loves you; that's why He tests you. If He doesn't, He would have left you to drift and wallow in all things 'duniawi' until the day you go. Had it been so, the consequences would be disastrous, and tragic, for you forever and more....

Saturday, February 20, 2010

Tuned in to CNN after dawn prayers, only to catch Tiger (in the) Woods blaming money and fame for his despicable behaviour. Promptly switched off TV. Tiger who?

"It's about time you grow up, be a man and shoulder the responsibility, son. You made your bed, so you lie on it, and not tell lies about it. Your string of lurid affairs has nothing to do with money and fame; it has everything to do with your inability to keep your pecker where it belongs."

When Old Isn't Gold

"Saya Tak Restu" (I Did Not Give My Blessing), screamed the headline of today's Harian Metro. Accompanying it were profile pictures of two people; someone named Jamaliah and '80s singer Shidee.

How ironic, to think that 51 year-old Shidee found fame with the song "Sayang Semuanya Sudah Terlambat" (Pity Everything's Too Late). It certainly is too late for 47 year-old Jamaliah for, not only she got unceremoniously dumped by him, she is now his reluctant mother-in-law!

According to the news report, the duo were an item for four years, (she's a single mother while his marital status was not disclosed) when he did an about-turn and eloped with the woman's 22 year-old daughter, Fairunnisa, last weekend.

"I had helped him out financially many times over. He was also close to my three kids; he taught them how to pray and to read the Quran. They even called him 'papa' and 'uncle'. And at one time he did express his intention to marry me."

Poor Jamaliah. You have my sympathies. He's out of your life, but not quite. From boyfriend to son-in-law..... ooooo boy! [I read in one Malay entertainment blog this morning that the Jamaliah-Shidee 'friendship' had been an open secret for years. Wallahuallam, sekadar membaca].

PS: In a sidebar, Shidee responded by saying that he fell in love 'on the quiet' with the 22 year-old over time. He also said they never eloped; "She came with me on her own free will." Shidee added that his wife has made a police report over her mother's claim.

Wednesday, February 17, 2010

It was just past 8 am and we were at home, having a leisurely breakfast. A movie was rambling on on an Astro channel; some inane story about gigantic wormlike creatures stalking the rocky peaks of Northern Afghanistan.

I was trying my level best to ignore the decidedly ridiculous plot while spreading a generous dollop of marmalade on my toast. Pak Abu, in the meantime, was stealing glances at the TV screen while waiting for his bread to pop out of the toaster.

A comely female character in US army fatigues suddenly appeared in one scene, saying "Let me hotwire the truck." My eyes automatically shifted to the crawl space at the bottom of the screen, in time to see this gem: "Biar saya wayarpanaskan trak itu."

Wayarpanas? Arrrghhh... It's the same old "lost in translation" crap all over again! Can't these translators get their act together once and for all?

I know, I know. It's only bad subtitling. It even has mirth value for a job done so poorly, but I tend to get emotional (and irrational, I'm afraid) about shitty translation.

Because translation is my bread and butter, I take pride in a job well done and take offence in a half-baked one (even if they are not mine), especially because bad translation serves only to confuse.

First of all, wayarpanas does not exist in Bahasa Malaysia. The translator had plucked the term out of thin air, for want of a word. This is the work of a lazy person.

Secondly, if your audience is not English-educated or at least have some basic rudiments of the language, they wouldn't know hotwire from a hotplate or a hothouse and it's presumptuous of you to assume they do.

There's nothing wrong in saying "Biar saya cuba hidupkan enjin trak tu tanpa guna kunci" (let me try to start the engine without a key). It may be a mouthful, but it makes sense. Most importantly, it is correct.

I can imagine an old, barely literate and completely baffled Dungun makcik congok in front of the telly watching the movie, probably with her grandkids, wondering aloud: "Wayarpanah tu amende pulok?"

I remember those good old days in the '90s when my public relations consultancy was swamped with translation work, particularly prospectus of companies going for public listing.

We had to deal with such a broad spectrum of industry that sometimes we got lost in the maze. There were times we reached out to Dewan Bahasa and Pustaka (DBP) to get the proper terms, only to be told translation of the said words had yet to be coined.

Sometimes, they would jokingly tell us to create new words and inform them. Those folks in DBP were a kind and helpful lot, and to them I owe much in the course of my business....

Tuesday, February 16, 2010

Bukit Besi train station, circa 1950s (this was during the era of steam engines). Iron ore from the hills were transported to Dungun in wagons. The ore would then be offloaded onto barges offshore and ferried to waiting Japanese ships anchored far out at sea.

Roundabout near the bungalows where the expat community and government officials lived. I am wondering about the car in the picture. We had no private vehicles in Bukit Besi because the red-earth roads were meant for jeeps and heavy-duty vehicles.

This is the train (called 'keretapi lipang' i.e. the centipede train, in colloquial lingo) that connected Bukit Besi with the outside world. There was no overland route to Bukit Besi until the late '60s. VIPs usually arrived via helicopter. Check out the ore-carrying wagons in front. The last few coaches were meant for passengers; the open-air ones for workers and residents while the very last coach (enclosed and with cushioned seats) was for mine officers and the expats.

Ramblings of A 'Hot' Woman

The days are getting hotter. Even the nights are not spared. Air-conditioning notwithstanding, I am being tormented by heat-induced headaches and pounding migraine all over again.

I had often thought that highrise dwellers would fare slightly better during a heatwave. If the current swelter is of any indication, then I am dead wrong. It is mind-numbingly hot up here on the 10th floor, with nary a breeze, however slight, to chill the air.

The pool looks very inviting. Unfortunately, it's a bit of a bother to take a dip, especially if you are tudung-clad and self-conscious to boot. There are lots of kids in there anyway, happily splashing away.

Ever since the temperature climb, I have not been taking chances for fear of heatstroke. There were brief forays in the mornings to run errands and such; that was just about it.

Confined indoors, I take comfort in strolling down the winding lane of memory to serene Bukit Besi, my place of birth in interior Terengganu.

Because of its location up in the hills, this erstwhile mining town was also a favourite hill station for the expatriate 'Tuans' and 'Mems' working in the East Coast.

Whilst not exactly in the same league as Cameron Highlands*, the air of Bukit Besi of yesteryears was pleasingly cool to the touch, chilly enough to merit the wearing of sweater**, especially in the early mornings and late evenings.

*[Even Cameron Highlands is no longer what it used to be, I heard. The temperature has risen a notch or two; is this true?]

**[I knitted my own sweaters and scarves, taught by Grandma who picked up the skill from the foreign Mems (wives of geologists and engineers working the mine, many from Scandinavia and Australia) through their WI (Women's Institute) gatherings.

To say the air of Bukit Besi was rarefied wouldn't be so far off the mark, despite its mining activities high up in the hills (Bukit Besi at the time operated the largest open-cast iron ore mine in the world).

For decades the town had no cars nor public transport. The only motorised vehicles were jeeps, lorries, excavators, bulldozers, trucks and such used by the mining company. And yes, there was one red fire engine too.

To travel out, we had to take a ride in wooden coaches hitched to the ore-carrying wagon train. To travel within, we either went by foot or cycle.

As befit a hill station, Bukit Besi's terrain was undulating, thus we climbed as much as we walked. I don't really remember when private transport finally came to town, but I think it was in the late '60s.

During the monsoon season, Bukit Besi received as much rain as anywhere else in the East Coast. But the water drained off fast. There was hardly any flooding compared to the coastal town of Dungun and the rest of Terengganu.

I loved the monsoon season. I revelled in the torrential downpours and the deluges that followed. I am wilting fast under this heat. Give me hujan (rain)anytime, but I'll take a raincheck on the air boh (floods)....

PS: With regards the middle photograph, I now remember precisely where this particular part of town was. The building next to the car was the fire station whilst the building on the extreme left was "The Store", where expats did their grocery. The road up 12 o'clock led to the railway station, passing by, among others, the police station, the post office and the town's only cinema.

Saturday, February 13, 2010

Bumper-to-bumper northbound traffic at 6 am today, taken from the overhead bridge near Slim River toll plaza.

The CNY 'balik kampung' exodus. Pix taken from the same bridge as we made the decision to turn back to Kuala Lumpur. No way were we going to continue our journey in this jam.

Stopped by the roadside enroute to KL to capture this image of dawn breaking over the hills of Slim River.

LEFT home at 5.30 this morning heading towards Selama, Perak, to attend the wedding kenduri (feast) of our newly-married friend Affendy, at the hometown of his bride, Leha.

I had my reservations about long-distance road travel during Chinese New Year holidays, especially today, when celebrants were rushing home in time for tonight's once-a-year Reunion Dinner.

But we had to take a chance with the traffic; it was Affendy's big day after all and we were supposed to be part of the groom's entourage.

So off we went at 5.30 am, planning to do our Subuh prayers as well as have breakfast at Rawang R&R, before continuing the journey to Selama some 300 kilometres away from KL.

Lo and behold, the jam started well before we even left Klang Valley! Ten minutes out of Taman Tun Dr Ismail, and it was already bumper-to-bumper traffic.

By the time we reached Rawang R&R, there wasn't even space to park the car, let alone stop for prayers and breakfast.

Some motorists took a chance by parking by the roadside; not a wise thing to do, considering that some reckless drivers were using the emergency lane to cut queue.

We decided to give Rawang a miss. Perhaps the next R&R would be a bit more accomodating. But traffic went from bad to worse and Pak Abu was getting really restless, having to contend with the snail pace.

At the rate we were going, we would be lucky to reach Selama by noon. The possibility of arriving at the bride's home when the kenduri was over loomed large in our thoughts.

A decision had to be made fast. Should we take a chance and proceed, or should we just turn back and go home?

For sure the traffic would not get any better as more and more vehicles piled onto the North-South Highway as the day progressed.

Some 500 metres from the Slim River exit we decided to go home, thus joining yet another crawl, this time towards the toll plaza as many other motorists had the same idea.

I think some of the motorists were opting for the old trunk road north while others probably decided to turn back, just like us. [I had this sneaky feeling the old trunk road would be gridlocked as well].

We made a U-turn at the toll plaza, parked our car at the PLUS office and had our solat at the surau there (which was also packed with fellow Muslim travellers stopping by for prayers).

Then we hit the highway again, stopping at Ulu Bernam R&R for breakfast before reaching home at 8.45 am. Sorry Fendi, the traffic jam won the day.....

Thursday, February 11, 2010

Remember the blue-eyed kiddo we found on our morning walk last week? Well, he's settling down fine. And it took snooty, spoilt Lillie three days to come to terms with the fact that little "Blue Eyes" may not be moving on to SPCA after all.

Let's face it; we have all fallen in love with the sweet-natured tyke and don't have the heart to pack him off to uncertainties, most of all a possible euthanasia.

Surprisingly enough, Lillie warmed up to him after a while and now they do play together, although big sister can occasionally be a big bully as well. Then again, little boy has been seen to steal a punch or two at his newfound 'kakak'.

Awang Jules is his name - he's a wee bit juling air (cross-eyed), thus Jules. And he takes to the name Awang like duck to water (must be the kerpok lekor atmosphere at home). Seems to me he also takes after the silver-haired "Big Awang" in the realm of tidur (napping)..

Sunday, February 7, 2010

What's this fascination with how much food one can shovel into one's gaping trap in one sitting? What actually is achieved in a competition that promotes pigging out?

Each time I read about such contest, I get all riled up. What's the big deal about a person who can wolf down 20 burgers at one go compared to my maximum (on extremely rare occasions) two? Is he to be hailed for such a 'heroic' deed?

An eating contest, much like the very American favourite pastime of pie-throwing contest, is a regrettable event and those who lend support to it by participating are, by my reckoning, a disgraceful lot.

By the way, have you ever seen an eating contest in action? During my years as a reporter, I had covered a few. One look at participants greedily ploughing through the chow, and the sty came to mind, if you catch my drift.

Like it or not, such contests reek of hedonistic decadence. It is shameful and an unnecessary waste of good food that could otherwise be put to better use, like feeding the truly hungry.

Recently, a supplier of fine meats to upmarket food outlets in Klang Valley organised one such contest to see who could consume the most beef (in the form of steak) in 40 minutes.

The challenge, held in Kelana Jaya, Selangor, was taken up by 24 participants and the winner managed to tuck in 1.31kg, besting his closest rival by 40gm. The total amount of beef consumed during the event was 35kg.

That, in a nutshell, translates into 35kg of premium barbecued steak hurriedly shoved down the gullets of 22 men and two women, for no specific reason except entertainment.

The Prophet Muhammad (peace be upon him) reminded us to partake our food slowly, carefully and with decorum, and to cease eating, not when we are satiated but when we are just about full.

In Cambodia, the poverty-stricken Muslim community eat beef only once a year, that too courtesy of Malaysian well-wishers who usually donate money for the purchase of cows to be slaughtered (qurban) in celebration of the Muslim religious festival of Eid Adha.

A friend of Pak Abu has been managing this collection and purchase for years as his amal jariah. We did our part by contributing our qurban portion; that was the least we could do to support his commendable efforts to bring some cheer to our unfortunate Cambodian brethren.

In the meantime, here in good old Malaysia we have this disgusting pursuit to see who could best emulate Porky....

A couple of days ago the cat was let out of the bag; Khadijah got married recently (no, not to someone else's husband) and is now back in Thailand. Hopefully she'll resume her classes at Al-Khadeem soon; we miss you Khadijah!

Tuesday, February 2, 2010

It was August 1973 and I was a gauche kampung girl of 19 when I first stepped foot in Kuala Lumpur to begin my career as a newspaper reporter. Ampang Park was then an upmarket shopping hub in KL, as was erstwhile Jaya Supermarket in PJ.

It was in a restaurant called 'Palong Dulang', located on the first floor of Ampang Park, that I had my first taste of Chicken a la King with Buttered Rice, a dish I took a liking to instantaneously.

For a small-town girl whose palate had experienced nothing beyond the standard fare of budu, sambal belacan, ikan singgang et al, chicken a la king with buttered rice was a kingly feast indeed.

'Palong Dulang' is but a distant memory, and I have since eaten chicken a la king with buttered rice everywhere in and out of the country, but nothing beats the one served in 'Palong Dulang' long ago.

A couple of days back I had a sudden urge to try cooking this simple dish (something I had never done before). A mad scramble on Google followed, searching for a suitable recipe.

Here's the result. I have improvised a bit, here and there. You can substitute mushroom soup with cream of chicken soup, or fresh milk, if you so desire. Any which way, kids will love this one because it is neither hot nor spicy.

Stumbled upon this little tyke on our morning walk today. The poor sod, chucked amongst dewy grass on a side lane just 100m metres from the condo entrance, was raising quite a ruckus with its piteous mewing.

As we stood there contemplating all the options, we knew we couldn't just walk away and leave it to the elements. Lift it, and take it home, and we would have to contend with the green-eyed monster named Lillie within.

Ignore its mournful wail, and it could fall into a drain and possibly drown. Worse, it could meet a more horrible death; mauled by stray dogs or mowed down by a passing vehicle.

Suffice to say the blue-eyed kiddo joined us on our walk (held it by the scruff of its neck, I did). And at the 'mamak' to 'tapau' some 'roti canai' home, everyone looked at us suspiciously (Oohh look!, She's gonna dump that poor kitten somewhere, evil woman!)

It is now sleeping in a cage next to the washing machine, after lapping up the milk that I gave him (I think it's a 'him'). I don't know what I am going to do next; a trip to SPCA in Jalan Ampang looms as a real possibility.

Don't think the family can keep another cat anyway. As it were, it is already against condo bylaws to keep pets, although the management graciously turns a blind eye to residents who do.

And now the rant. To all of you who have perfected this despicable art of dumping unwanted pets willy-nilly, this is what I have to say: Such uncivilised behaviour. Shame on you! I wish you ill for at least seven generations. Hrrrmmmph!